Redemption
by Rambling Scribe
Summary: Spoilers for S6 and S7. Third of the S7 trilogy. She dreams of him, often.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer – Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC**

**Warning – Spoilers for series 6 and 7.**

**A/N – Third (and longest) of the series 7 trilogy.**

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She dreams of him, often. Brown eyes, soft lips, warm skin, strong arms wrapped around her. She used to find the dreams upsetting and would try to fight them off by filling her mind with other things but it never worked. In the end, it was easier to let them happen and now she takes comfort from those few precious hours of oblivion when it seems as if he's with her. There's always sadness in the morning when she wakes to find her bed empty but she's learnt to live with it. She's learnt to live with a lot of things; and without.

This will be the third Christmas of her new life. And it's a life that still feels very new to her, alien at times, but she perseveres because that's what she's always done. It's what she did after her father died; it's what she's done every time she's lost someone. She's never been able to understand people who say 'how do you go on?' Her answer is 'you just _do_.' Her response has always earned her uncomprehending looks or pity; sometimes both. There was only one person who seemed to understand but he's…

Ruth shakes her head to clear the gloomy thoughts and takes the shopping list off the fridge door, running a finger over the small Charlie Chaplin magnet that had been holding it in place. The paintwork on the little figure is slightly chipped, it always has been, but it was an irresistible purchase, shining out at her as she wandered around a flea market in Amsterdam. She folds the list up and puts it in her purse, tucking her memories away at the same time.

It's bitingly cold and the morning's snow has frozen into ice that reflects the lights from the market stalls. Ruth shivers and starts to walk more quickly, anxious to get her shopping done and return to the warmth of her apartment. Something, some instinct, makes her stop and her gaze is inexplicably drawn to the church on the other side of the square. A woman bumps into her, apologises, and the spell is broken. She starts moving again, walking more slowly this time as she moves around the square, taking in the sights and sounds. Her nostrils fill with the smell of Glühwein and citrus scents and her stomach rumbles as she passes a stall with bratwurst sizzling on a grill, reminding her she's had nothing to eat since lunchtime.

By the time she has completed her shopping, a small crowd has gathered in front of the church. Ruth walks towards them to see what has caught their attention. The heavy wooden doors open and a group of children walk carefully down the steps. They head towards the Christmas tree in the centre of the market square and line themselves up into neat rows, huddling together to share the light from the small lanterns some of them are carrying.

When they start to sing, Ruth can feel tears prickling at the back of her eyes. The sweet innocence of their voices takes her back to her own childhood and school carol concerts. The surge of regret and grief catches her unaware and she hastily places her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. She places her bags on the ground, retrieves a tissue from her coat pocket and blows her nose.

It's not until she begins to walk back to her apartment that she realises she has dropped one of her gloves. Cursing under her breath she turns around and then stops, abruptly.

"You dropped this."

A rush of emotion engulfs Ruth as she looks at the man standing in front of her, holding her missing glove in his outstretched hand.

"_Harry_? W-what the Hell are you doing here?"

It isn't much of a greeting and certainly not what she'd imagined saying to him when she saw him again. And there had always been a part of her that knew she _would_ see him.

"I, er…" He shrugs, clearly at a loss to explain his presence.

"Sorry." She briefly looks away from him. "It's just…unexpected. Your being here."

"It's a bit unexpected for me, too."

She acknowledges his comment with a small nod of her head but says nothing.

"How are you?" he asks, attempting to fill the silence that has settled around them. "Have you been looking after yourself?"

"Yes, I have. And you?"

"As best I can," he replies.

The few words are enough for her to know things haven't been easy for him. "Why don't we get out of the cold? My flat is just a few minutes walk from here."

He's grateful for the invitation. "OK."

---

Ruth declines Harry's help to unpack her shopping. He leans awkwardly against the worktop and watches her.

"You sure I can't help?"

"It's fine, really." She smiles at him before turning away; she never expected this to be so difficult. Her fingers fiddle compulsively with the paper bag the bread was in. "This is so strange," she announces, "I have no idea what to say to you."

"I'm sorry." His voice is soft, apologetic. "I shouldn't have just turned up. I'll go."

"No!" She moves quickly, catches hold of his arm. "Don't leave, please."

Now she is closer to him, daring to look at him properly, she can see fresh scars on his face. Marks she knows weren't there when she left him.

"Harry." His name leaves her lips in a barely audible whisper. This isn't the great romantic reunion she'd dreamt of. It isn't laughter and tears, kisses and love; it's sadness and grief, longing and fear.

His embrace is strong and she welcomes it, pressing herself against him and inhaling the smell of sweat and weariness.

"What's happened to you?" she questions, her index finger brushing lightly over the thick stubble on his chin.

"All manner of things," he says, gently. "All manner of things."

There is a long silence as he wonders how much to tell her, and her mind is filled with terrifying images of what might have befallen him.

"When did you last eat?" The question is an attempt at normality; a way of banishing her dark thoughts.

He has to think about his answer. "Yesterday," he offers, clearly unsure.

--

They sit at her small kitchen table and eat the simple meal she has prepared. She tells him a little about her new life, what she does with her time. She doesn't ask about London and the people she left there.

He helps her wash the dishes and make coffee. Then it is his turn to talk.

"There are things I need to tell you," he says, quietly. "Things that will shock you, upset you."

She nods; she understands.

**

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More soon. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Picks up where the last chapter left off.**

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They sit, side-by-side, on the sofa. Harry starts slowly, choosing his words carefully. He tells her about Zaf and Adam, and holds her when she cries for them. She asks about the others; he tries to avoid going into too much detail but Ruth knows she's not being told the whole story. Eventually, he gives in to her questioning and tells her about Jo being taken. Ros' duplicity is a more difficult subject but he knows he has to explain what happened.

"But she came back for you?" Ruth asks, after a long pause.

"Yes." He waits, wondering if she will say anything else on the matter but she doesn't.

"Do you want some more coffee?" She's on her feet and halfway to the kitchen before he acknowledges the change of subject.

"No, not for me. Do you have anything stronger?" he calls after her. He hates himself for needing the crutch of alcohol to help him confess his sins to her.

She returns with a bottle of whisky and two glasses, pours them both a generous measure and settles herself beside him again.

He takes a large mouthful of his drink, welcoming the familiar burn of the spirit as he swallows it down.

"I've done things, Ruth, things that you may never forgive me for. You may not even understand why I did them." He takes another sip of his whisky. "I wanted revenge for Adam's death. Not just for myself but for the others, too."

Harry finishes his drink, picks up the bottle and refills his glass. Ruth's gaze never leaves him and she is absolutely still; something he finds unnerving. He stands up, walks across the room and stops by the window. He looks out over the street below, only vaguely aware it's started to snow.

"I found out that Arkady Kachimov, the FSB London station chief, was responsible for Adam's death." He turns around to face Ruth. "We lifted him. He thought we were going to interrogate him, keep him as a source of information but I took matters into my own hands. I murdered him. I stood in front of him, looked him in the eye and shot him through the heart."

"You shot him?" There is a slight tremor in her voice when she speaks.

"Yes. In cold blood."

"What else have you done?"

He's surprised at her question and it takes him a few seconds to collect his thoughts. As he tells her about Connie's betrayal, he is briefly sidetracked by explaining who Ben was but skirts the issue of his own, temporary, incarceration in Thames House.

"And then we found out the Russians had set up a huge network of sleepers in the UK. A Russian asset of mine tipped me off that one of the sleepers was about to be activated. The only person who could help us was Connie. We knew she would probably have some kind of insurance policy for when she got found out so we…removed her from the holding centre-"

"Unofficially," Ruth interjects.

"Yes. We made it look like the Russians and upset the FSB quite spectacularly. Turned out they were planning on silencing her before she was transferred to Nemworth. So they came after all of us."

"And?"

"I killed an FSB officer who was following me. I garrotted him."

There is silence as they both look at one another. Harry moves first, turning away from her and looking out of the window again. He drinks his whisky in one go and closes his eyes. He isn't sure what he was trying to achieve by finding Ruth and telling her these things. Regret burns through him. He should have left her alone, left her in her new life. _What is lost can never be found_.

"I'll go now." He sets his empty glass down on the table.

"Is that it?" Ruth grabs hold of his hand to stop him. "You come here, tell me all that and then think you can just walk away?" She is incredulous, and not a little angry. "Harry?"

"What else can I say?"

"You can tell me why! Why you felt the need to come here and unburden yourself!"

"I'm not sure...I suppose I wanted you to know the truth, about me. About what I'm capable of."

She laughs, a bitter, humourless sound. Harry realises, somewhat ironically, that he finds her anger far more terrifying than anything else he's been through over the last few months.

"I'm sorry," he offers, helplessly. "I shouldn't have come here. I've no right to turn up, out of the blue, and upset you."

There is something in his words, in his expression, and it dissipates her rage. She realises there are things he hasn't told her, and probably never will. He has been through some unspeakable horror; she can see it in his face but he won't use it to get her sympathy.

"Where will you go?" Her voice is calmer.

"I, uh, I don't know. I'll find a hotel for the night and then head back to London in the morning."

"For God's sake, Harry, it's Christmas. You won't find anywhere to stay and every flight, train and ferry will be fully booked."

"I'll find something." He heads into the hallway and takes his coat from the hook by the door. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

"I always worry about you."

Her words stop him in his tracks and he stares at her.

"Every day I wonder how you are, whether you're putting yourself in danger. _Every_ day, Harry."

"You shouldn't." His voice is so quiet she can barely hear him.

"Why not?"

He doesn't reply straight away, turning his attention to zipping up his jacket. "I'm not worth it, Ruth. I never was."

"You know you're worth something to me." She moves closer to him. "You wouldn't be here otherwise."

The words are honest, heartfelt, and he knows it.

"Stay," Ruth continues, "get some rest and decide what you want to do in the morning."

He nods his agreement.

She finds him blankets, a pillow from her own bed, and shows him where the bathroom is. With the domestic arrangements sorted out, they stand in the middle of her living room, awkwardness enveloping them.

"Thank you," Harry says, politely, breaking the silence.

Ruth smiles at him. "You'll be fine in here. The sofa's quite comfortable and the heating will be on for a bit longer so you should be warm enough." She starts to retreat from the room. "Night," she calls, softly, from the doorway.

After she closes the door, Harry sits down, wearily. Maybe tonight he will sleep.

**

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More after Christmas**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry, this took longer than expected. Unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine.**

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Ruth shifts onto her left side and rearranges the covers. She wants to sleep, _needs_ to sleep, but her mind is still racing, processing the evening's events, analysing every word, every gesture. A faint noise catches her attention, distracting her from her thoughts. At first she thinks it's just her imagination but then she hears the sound again, louder this time. Her blood runs cold as she realises it's Harry, and he's calling her name.

She finds him sitting bolt upright, shaking and sweating, and knows immediately what is wrong.

"It's all right, Harry. You were dreaming." She goes to take hold of his hands but he pulls away from her, his head still full of the images his subconscious has conjured up. "It's me, Harry. It's Ruth."

"Ruth? I-I thought you were…"

"It was a dream, Harry."

His mind begins to clear and he can finally make sense of what she's saying. "A dream?"

She nods and then squeezes his hand. "I'll get you some water."

"No, don't go."

His grip on her arm is strong and she has to stop herself from wincing. "It's OK, Harry. I'll just be a minute."

She holds the glass for him as he drinks because his hands are trembling so much. Water dribbles down his chin and when she sweeps it away with her thumb, he mutters an apology.

"Doesn't matter," she says, placing the glass down on the table. "What were you dreaming about?"

He shakes his head and looks away from her.

"Please tell me. I heard you saying my name."

There is silence, and he seems to have some kind of debate with himself. When he does eventually speak, he stumbles over the words. "I-it's you…in m-my dreams. You lying on the mortuary slab and not some stranger. You're dead…and th-there's nothing I can do about it."

This is hard for her to hear, and not just because of the obvious upset it causes Harry. She'd found this part of her plan - passing off some poor soul as her - difficult to reconcile herself with. Adam had been matter-of-fact: '_If you want this to work, Ruth, really work, there has to be a body._' So she'd gone along with it and tried not to think too much about what they were doing. In the cold, grey dampness of the early morning, when her resolve had almost failed her, Zaf had been reassuring, promising that, afterwards, they would do all they could to discreetly, and correctly, identify the stranger.

She's brought back to the here and now by Harry's voice.

"I dream about other things too," he says, "things I've seen, things I've done. Not just recently but from years ago…"

He falls silent so she moves closer to him, sliding an arm around his shoulders and pulling him against her. She knows he won't say anymore, at least not tonight.

"Come on." She stands up. "I'm not leaving you here on your own." She tugs on his hand and, reluctantly, he gets to his feet.

He follows her to the bedroom, hanging back as they near the bed. "I should put something else on."

"Don't worry about that. Just get into bed."

He walks slowly towards her and she reaches out for him, grasping his arms. "Come on, it's fine," she reassures.

As he sits down on the edge of the mattress, the light from the lamp illuminates marks on his chest. Fresh scars, the telltale redness of the skin advertising their newness. He knows she's seen them and he waits, silently, for her questions.

"How…who did this to you?"

"You don't want to know."

"But Harry-"

"Please don't ask," he pleads.

She relents, unwilling to argue, and gets into bed.

It's strange, lying next to him; her dreams finally made reality but not as she'd hoped. She closes her eyes and attempts to find the rest she needs.

A little while later, Harry is sure he can hear Ruth crying. He says her name but the only reply he gets is a small sniff. He rolls onto his side and tentatively stretches out a hand to touch her arm.

"Ruth?"

"I'm all right," she replies, but her voice sounds ragged from the effort of trying to hide her tears.

He moves nearer to her, close enough so he can feel the warmth of her body, and waits. Eventually she turns to face him.

"Hold me," she whispers.

She clings tightly to him and weeps while he murmurs words of comfort to her. When she finally relaxes in his arms, her breathing soft and steady, he lightly kisses the side of her face, and wonders what the morning will bring.

---

After she has showered and dressed, Ruth spends a few minutes watching Harry sleep. She's grateful he didn't ask the reason for her tears; she doesn't yet have the words to explain.

She gently pulls the bedclothes up, her fingers lingering on the uppermost scar on his chest. He stirs, slowly opens his eyes, and squints at her.

It takes a few moments for the haze of sleep to recede enough for him to focus. "You're dressed."

Ruth smiles. "I have to go to work but I'll be back about one o'clock."

"OK."

"You, er, you know it's Christmas Eve," she asks, nervously.

He nods.

"Well, later this afternoon," she continues, "I'm helping out at the Community Centre. They provide Christmas dinner for anyone who wants to come along. Anyone who's lonely or hasn't got much money to spare. I can't not go, I promised…"

She's clearly embarrassed by her admission and Harry watches as her restless hands move from the covers of the bed to her jacket. She fiddles with a loose thread, twisting it around the button it's hanging from.

"You're still the same," he says, gently. "Still thinking of other people."

The slight tilt of her head as she acknowledges his comment is so beautifully familiar it makes his breath catch.

"Not quite the same, Harry."

The room is very still, the only noise the tick-tick of the radiator as it warms up.

Ruth smoothes her hand over the bedcovers. "This afternoon, if you want to come along, you're most welcome. You don't have to but I won't be back until late."

"I'd love to go."

"Good." She stands up. "I really need to get to work, sorry."

"See you later."

She gives him a small wave and mouths 'bye' before shutting the bedroom door.

---

Ruth hesitates as she puts the key in the lock. All morning she has tried not to give credence to the idea that he will be gone by the time she gets home. As she closes the door, she realises she can smell fresh coffee.

"Hello," she says, as she enters the kitchen.

"Good timing," Harry replies, giving her a shy, boyish smile. "Would you like a coffee?"

She nods. "Please."

"I hope you don't mind but I made myself a sandwich."

"No, I don't mind." She sits at the table, quietly assessing his appearance. He's wearing clean clothes, has shaved and looks more like his old self; a realisation that provokes regret for missed opportunities.

"I thought I should tidy myself up a bit," Harry says, fully aware of the scrutiny he's being subjected to. "If I'm going to come with you this afternoon." He turns around to look at her. "That is still all right?"

"Of course it is."

"Good." He sets a mug of coffee down on the table in front of her. "Want half?" he asks, pointing towards the sandwich.

"Thanks."

He takes a sip of his drink, discreetly watching her over the rim of his cup. "How did you end up offering to help at this Christmas dinner?"

"Sophie, one of my work colleagues, told me about it. We were discussing Christmas plans. I think she was wondering why I wasn't going back to the UK or having anyone to stay." Ruth pauses. "She said it was better than being on my own."

Her words do not pass unnoticed but Harry chooses not to remark upon them. "Doesn't Sophie have any family?"

"She has lots of family, I think that's the problem," Ruth replies, laughing softly. "She prefers to do something for people who appreciate it. I can understand that."

"So can I."

She looks at him for a moment before speaking. "I need to get changed. We'll have to leave soon; there's quite a lot to do at the community centre and never enough volunteers."

"So they'll be grateful for an extra pair of hands," Harry says, collecting up their empty cups.

"Yes, they will." And she'll be grateful for his company.

**

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Thanks for reading. More soon…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Still not mine; still unbeta'd.**

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**By the time they leave Ruth's flat, it has started to snow again; thick flakes that swirl through the air, seemingly defying gravity.

"It's been a long time since I've seen a white Christmas," Harry announces, his voice muffled by his scarf, which partially covers his mouth. "They're something of a rarity in London."

"I'm getting used to them," Ruth replies, quietly.

Though not intended to, her words are a painful reminder of how far apart they have been, and not just geographically. Unable to find any suitable response, Harry says nothing, and the pair of them continue walking, in silence.

The paint on the doors of the community centre is peeling in places but the slightly tired appearance is not repeated inside. Brightly coloured decorations have been strung across the ceiling and the walls are covered with an assortment of Christmas scenes that are clearly the hard work of local children.

Ruth looks around the room. "That's Sophie." She points to a tall, dark-haired woman in her mid-fifties, who is deep in conversation with a younger man. "When I introduce you, what do I call you?"

"John," Harry replies. "I know, not very original."

His comment is met with a slight laugh. "Don't worry about that. Come on; time to say hello."

He's surprised when she takes hold of his hand, her fingers curling gently around his, but says nothing.

"Elena!" Sophie greets Ruth warmly. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"I'm happy to be able to help out."

"Bless you; you have such a kind heart," the older woman replies.

Ruth blushes. "Er, I hope you don't mind, I brought a friend along. This is John."

Harry shakes hands with Sophie. "Very nice to meet you."

"You too," she replies. "I didn't realise Elena had anyone visiting her."

"Last minute change of plan," Harry explains, not entirely untruthfully.

A male voice calls out from the kitchen.

"Forgive me," Sophie says. "My nephew, Karl. He is doing the cooking this year. He's a bit nervous, I think. I don't know why," she says, lowering her voice. "He's in the Navy. He makes meals for hundreds of people at a time!" With a laugh and a shake of her head, she excuses herself.

"She seems very nice," Harry remarks.

Ruth nods. "She is."

---

The time passes surprisingly quickly, and the first people in search of hot food and company arrive as the volunteers are just finishing setting up. They stand, self-consciously, near the doors until Sophie spots them. She's kind and welcoming but not patronising. Within a few moments, she has them smiling and offering to help.

"Sophie's got quite a knack with people," Harry quietly remarks to Ruth as both of them stop for a moment to catch their breath.

"That's why she gets all the difficult customers to deal with at work. She's able to charm the most obnoxious of people."

"She'd be quite useful at the JIC," Harry says, winking at Ruth.

---

As he's clearing a table, Harry's attention is drawn to a young, blonde woman, who is desperately trying to comfort a crying toddler. He puts down the plates he's carrying and crosses the room towards the pair.

"Oh dear," he says, "the food's not that bad is it?"

The mother, who looks close to tears herself, starts to speak quickly, forcing Harry to ask her to slow down. His German is good but he is more out of practice than he thought.

"S-Sorry," the woman apologises. "The meal was very good, thank you. My daughter is upset because of this." She holds out a small piece of plastic - an arm from the doll the child is clutching. "I can't fix it and it's her favourite."

The note of desperation in the mother's voice and the little girl's tears are heartbreaking.

"Shall I try?" Harry offers, smiling at them both.

It's a fiddly task but eventually he manages to reattach the doll's arm. The smile he gets from the little girl when he returns her prized possession to her is beautiful but stirs up suppressed memories, which he quickly pushes aside.

The child's mother thanks him, profusely.

"You're welcome," he says, and gently squeezes her hand.

His actions have not gone unnoticed by Sophie. "Your friend seems to have quite an affinity for children. Does he have any of his own?"

The question is innocent enough but Ruth is filled with unease as she considers how to answer.

"He does, yes, but they're grown up," she eventually replies, hoping she's said the right thing.

There is a pause as Sophie studies Ruth, intrigued by the slight flush on her friend's face. "I think it's time for you and John to eat," she says, after a few moments.

---

Harry watches as Ruth distractedly pushes her food around her plate.

"Something wrong?" he asks.

"I er…I hope not." She gives him a nervous smile.

"Tell me."

She clears her throat and her gaze drops to the table. "Earlier, when you were talking to that woman with the little girl, Sophie asked me if you had any children." Ruth stops, risks a quick look at him. "I-I told her you did, and that they were grown up. I'm sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut. I don't know-"

"It's fine."

The soft tone of his voice is reassuring and relief replaces the fear that's been making her stomach twist and knot.

"You're sure?" she asks.

"Yes." He reaches across the table to take her hand in his. "How much detail did you go into?" At her confused look, he continues, "number of children, boys, girls."

"Oh," she laughs, embarrassed at her lack of comprehension. "I didn't go into specifics."

He nods. "Three of each then; that sounds about right."

The remark is delivered completely deadpan and for a moment she thinks he's being serious.

"I think that might be overdoing it a bit," she replies, trying, and failing, not to smile.

---

It's nearly ten o'clock when they leave the community centre. The snow has stopped and the night air feels painfully cold after the warmth of indoors. Sophie asks if they want a lift but Ruth declines, saying she wants to stretch her legs.

"Did you really want to walk?" Harry asks, once they are out of sight of the other volunteers.

"Yes," Ruth replies, resolutely looking straight ahead.

He waits to see if she will say anything else.

"It wasn't just that," she volunteers, a few moments later. "I would've felt obliged to ask Sophie in for a coffee and then make polite conversation when all I really want to do is shut the door on the world and…be with you.

The last few words are said so quietly he only just hears them.

"I'm glad you refused the lift," he says, deeply touched by her admission.

---

Harry tries, unsuccessfully, to stifle a yawn. "Sorry. It's not the company, believe me."

"I should think not," Ruth teases. "It's been a long day," she adds.

"You'd think I'd be used to those."

Ruth smiles at the comment and then swallows down the last of her whisky. "Tonight, Harry; you don't have to sleep on the sofa."

It's not an overt invitation but the meaning is clear.

"Sure?"

She nods.

By the time Ruth has finished in the bathroom, Harry is already in bed, apparently asleep. She stands and watches him for a few moments.

"S'alright," he mumbles, when he senses her presence. "Was just warming the bed up for you." He shifts across to the other side of the mattress.

"You could have stayed where you were," she says, feeling guilty at having disturbed him.

"It's your bed."

She gets in beside him, settling into the space where he'd lain. Her bed feels decidedly warmer and more welcoming than it usually does.

"Cuddle?" he asks, peering at her through half-closed eyes.

"Please."

He's reaching for her before the word has finished leaving her mouth and she presses herself against him, carefully entwining their legs. She slips her hand under his T-shirt and he sighs, softly, as her fingers trace random patterns on his back.

They sleep soundly in each other's arms, for once untroubled by dreams and regrets.

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**Thanks for reading. Next chapter a bit sooner I hope. :)  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to everyone who is still reading this. :)

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**Ruth stands in the kitchen, absently stirring a cup of tea. She'd woken, still curled against Harry, with the events of the last two days at the forefront of her mind. She was finding it difficult to comprehend that the patient, gentle man who had made a tearful little girl smile was the same man who had confessed to murdering two FSB officers. Propping herself up on one elbow, she'd studied him. In sleep, he looked younger, the weariness that plagued him less evident; however, the lines and marks on his face couldn't provide the answers to her questions.

Eventually, she'd felt the need to get away from him; not because of any sense of revulsion but because of the lack of it. She feels strangely at ease with his admission, confident that whatever he isn't telling her will explain his actions. Paradoxically though, she still needs him to tell her everything.

She takes a sip of her tea, grimaces, and tips it down the sink. She turns around to switch the kettle on and is visibly startled when she sees Harry standing in the doorway, watching her.

"You made me jump."

"Sorry."

"It's all right," she smiles. "I didn't realise you were awake. Do you want any breakfast?"

"No, thank you." He takes a couple of steps into the kitchen. "I've got something for you."

In his outstretched hand is a small box, wrapped in shiny silver paper and adorned with tightly-curled thin ribbon.

"I-I bought it some time ago…" He stops, the uncertainty in his voice mirrored in his eyes.

Ruth dries her hands before taking the gift from him. His fingers are trembling and she gives them a reassuring squeeze. She carefully unwraps the package, revealing a midnight blue box with the name of a London jeweller neatly inscribed in gold lettering on the top. _Her_ fingers are shaking now, and she fumbles with the lid before slowly unfurling the thick tissue paper to reveal the contents. She gently sets the box down on the worktop and removes the silver bangle it contains.

Harry watches her every move. "Do you like it?" he asks, quietly.

"It-it's beautiful." Her voice is choked with emotion.

He moves closer to her.

"You know what it is, don't you?" he offers after a long silence. "It's a Möbius band-"

"I know." She smiles at him but it's obvious tears are not far away. "And I also know," she continues, slowly turning the bangle around so she can read the inscription on it, "that it's so much more than that."

"Thou art my life, my love, my heart." His voice is barely audible as he speaks the words inscribed on the piece of jewellery.

"The very eyes of me; and has command of every part, to live and die for thee," she continues, shakily. "_Hesperides_."

"I knew you'd recognise the quote." There is no arrogance in his triumph; he is genuinely pleased his intuition was correct.

"When did you buy it?"

"Ah," he replies, slightly bashfully. "The er, the day after we went out for dinner. I…I saw it in the jeweller's window and I couldn't resist." He shifts from one foot to the other and looks down at the floor. "You know me," he continues, finally lifting his gaze to her again, "presumptuous to a fault."

Ruth chews on her bottom lip, willing herself not to cry. She knows how difficult it was for him to give those few words of explanation. She also knows how much she hurt him when she rejected his advances. Her fingers twist the bangle around and around her wrist and it's not until she hears him speak that she realises she's crying.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't meant to upset you." He tentatively places his hands on her face and gently wipes away her tears with his thumbs. "Please don't cry; you'll set me off."

His comment draws a small laugh from her before she pulls away from him, suddenly concerned about her appearance. "God, I must look a right mess."

"No you don't. You're beautiful. Always beautiful."

"Harry," she sighs, and he's not sure whether she's embarrassed or exasperated.

"I'm not trying to buy your affection," he says, "not with compliments or that," he adds, indicating the bangle.

"I know." She moves closer to him and rests her hands on his chest. "I can't believe you didn't return it to the jewellers…after everything I…after everything that happened."

He shrugs. "I bought it for you and I was determined that you were going to have it. Returning it would have been tantamount to admitting that I'd given up on you."

"Stubborn-"

"Tenacious," he cuts in. "I couldn't accept the possibility that I'd never see you again," he continues, more seriously.

She smiles and wraps her arms around him. Holding him tells him more than any words can.

He leans into her embrace, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I'm so lost without you, Ruth. So lost."

And now she understands why he's here, what he's searching for. She places a soft kiss on the side of his face, feeling his skin moving under her lips as he turns his head. The next sensation is his mouth gently pressing against hers. He waits, letting her decide what will happen next.

She knows this is where she has to choose, and she knows it's about more than kissing him. If she rejects him again, there won't be another chance. He will leave her in her new life and go back to London; she'll never see him again. That realisation is enough to quell her uncertainty and her lips slide over his, warm and sweet, encouraging him to respond, which he does, passionately.

They stumble slightly, each of them trying to get closer to the other. He moves one hand to the back of her head and the other to the base of her spine so he can press her more firmly against him as they kiss. Her fingers fumble under the material of his shirt, the need to touch his skin overpowering.

Without either of them suggesting it or taking the lead, they move to the bedroom.

"This is not the reason I came here, Ruth. You do believe me, don't you?" Harry asks, trying to focus on something other than his desire for her.

"Yes, I believe you." Her arms are around his neck and her teeth scrape lightly over his jaw line. "You want to though, don't you. I know you do."

The seductive tone of her voice fires up his lust again but he still needs to give her a chance to change her mind.

"You don't have to do this for me," he says, concentrating on every word as one of her hands works to unfasten his jeans.

"Maybe I'm doing it for me," she replies, backing him towards the bed.

He sits down on the edge of the mattress and watches Ruth as she starts to undress. He finds himself mirroring her actions and attempts to unbutton his shirt. He gives up when his co-ordination deserts him, tugging the half-opened garment over his head.

Ruth helps him remove the rest of his clothes and sits facing him on the bed. When he doesn't move, she shuffles closer to him until she is sitting between his thighs, and loosely wraps her legs around his hips. She takes hold of his hands and places them on her waist, applying slight pressure. His fingers flex a little and then still.

"Please," she asks, quietly.

His hands move again, tentatively exploring her skin, and she trembles. He looks at her, clearly uncertain, but she reassures him with a smile.

The hesitancy has gone now; his touch is still light but more assured. He leans back and, for the first time, looks at her, properly, taking in every detail of her body. She watches him, and waits.

When his lips connect with her skin again, all the emotion she has held back for so long surfaces. She holds him against her and whispers his name, over and over.

"Do you want to stop?"

She rests her hands on his shoulders. "No, I-I just need a moment…"

"We don't have to," he says, as her eyes brim with tears.

She shakes her head. "I want to do this." She shifts slightly, catching him unaware and making his body jerk. "I _need_ to do this," she whispers, resting her forehead against his.

There is a moment of absolute stillness before she kisses him. At the same time, she settles more firmly onto him, causing him to gasp into her mouth. His hands move erratically over her back, the reality of being with her like this, overwhelming.

They establish the gentlest of rhythms, barely moving against each other, lost in sensation. When it's no longer enough for her, when his instincts tell him she needs more, his hands move to her buttocks, lifting her, fractionally.

"Now?" he asks.

"Now."

His mouth seeks out a taught nipple, gently sucking on it. She's distracted by this new pleasure until she feels the first long, deep stroke as he fills her, completely.

She gives herself to him; his touch, his body, his strength; wanting nothing more than for him to be part of her, and her part of him.

He surrenders to her; her touch, her body, her trust. She has never failed him, never forgotten him. He gives her the only thing he has; himself.

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**There will be one more chapter..  
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	6. Chapter 6

**Last chapter. Sorry it took longer than expected. **

**Unbeta'd - mistakes are mine.**

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**Harry squints at the clock on the bedside table and then turns his attention back to Ruth, who is still asleep. She's lying on her stomach and he can't resist placing a gentle kiss between her shoulder blades, marvelling at the softness of her skin. She stirs but doesn't wake. His mouth travels along the length of her spine, leaving a trail of tender kisses. When his lips reach the sensitive spot at the small of her back, she murmurs his name. He rewards her with another kiss, applying more pressure this time, and allowing himself to taste her skin. She wriggles about and then turns onto her side, still not completely awake.

"Merry Christmas," he whispers in her ear.

"Mmm?" She reaches out to him, unsure if she's dreaming. Her hand connects with warm skin and muscle, reassuring her that the man beside her is real. "Merry Christmas", she murmurs, turning her head a little and smiling.

He gives in to the temptation of her soft lips and warm embrace.

Her fingers wander over his chest, finally coming to rest on one of his newer scars. She doesn't have to say anything.

"I got set up," he states, calmly. "By people I'd known a long time, that I trusted. They betrayed me."

She listens, in silence, as he explains what was done; the intricate web of lies, weaved so easily and without remorse; how he was deceived by people he would have given his life for, and very nearly did.

"When I got too close to the truth, they delivered their dossier of misinformation to the DG and the Home Secretary. I got arrested and questioned-"

"Interrogated," she interrupts. "By your own side?"

"Interrogated is quite a strong word, Ruth."

"But that's what they did, isn't it? I know what goes on, Harry. I know the things they do!"

He attempts to placate her. "At least I knew what to expect. And I've been through worse."

"That doesn't excuse what they did," she continues, slightly less angrily. "You've given so much, Harry."

"Too much," he replies, quietly.

One of her hands gently cups his face. "There are some things you still have, you'll always have."

"Even after everything I've done?"

"Yes."

Her faith in him is frightening and, he thinks, quite possibly misplaced. "Ruth, I murdered two men, in cold blood."

"I'm not so sure that what you did to Kachimov was cold-blooded. Wasn't it a reaction to what had happened to Adam? A way of making the person responsible pay for his actions?"

She makes it sound so reasoned, so justified, he can almost believe she forgives him.

"A long time ago," Ruth continues, "Zoë told me about a young admin officer called Helen, who was brutally murdered. She said you ensured that the man responsible would never be able to hurt anyone else again. I knew exactly what she meant."

He looks at her for a long moment. "Doesn't it frighten you, hearing these things? Doesn't it make you wonder what sort of man I am?"

"I know what sort of man you are. You're brave, honourable, decent. And prepared to defend the people and the things you love, to the death."

"I didn't come here so you could salve my conscience-"

"Then tell me about the FSB officer you garrotted," she counters, although she's terrified this revelation might prove to be the sin that is unforgivable.

"He was one of the team sent after us when we removed Connie from the holding centre. We'd already been ambushed once and only just managed to get away. He followed me into a subway, I…killed him. If I hadn't-"

"He would have killed you."

Harry can hear the relief in Ruth's voice. Despite what she'd said, there had still been a grain of doubt in her mind. A fear that he wasn't the man she thought he was.

"Yes," he says. "He would have killed me."

She's quiet for a while, lost in thought.

"I think I know why you came here," she offers, eventually. "You wanted to know if there was still something in here." She presses her hand against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat under her fingers. "There is, Harry. Me. In the same way," she says, placing his hand over her heart, "that you're still in here."

He pulls her closer, needing to feel her against him again. "We've never really been apart, have we?" he breathes, just before his lips meet hers.

Her reply is lost in their kiss.

---

"Do you have any plans for today?" Harry questions, winding a lock of Ruth's hair around his fingers. When she doesn't respond, he gently nudges her. "Hey. Did you hear me?"

She shuffles about, nuzzling her face into his neck. "Yes."

"Yes, you have plans, or yes, you heard me?"

"Heard you. No plans."

She doesn't say any more and he assumes she's gone back to sleep. He moves, slowly, so he doesn't disturb her and carefully folds back the covers.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, turning his shirt out the right way, when he senses movement behind him.

"Not planning on sneaking off are you?" an apprehensive voice questions.

"Of course not," he replies, shifting round to face her. "I'm going to phone Wes. I told him I'd ring him today."

"Oh, right. Sorry." She looks away from him, ashamed of her insecurity. "Is it safe?" she suddenly questions. "Calling him from here? Your location could be traced."

"It's fine," he reassures. "Malcolm's tinkered with the phone. Don't ask me to explain what he did because I don't entirely understand. But he's fixed it so that any calls I make can't be traced." He leans forward and kisses her. "I promise. You're safe."

She wraps her arms around his shoulders. "Thank you," she whispers, holding him to her.

When Ruth lets go of him, Harry makes his phone call. As he talks, he moves from the bed and walks across the room to the window. She watches him and listens to his half of the conversation, trying to guess what Wes is saying.

"I'm with a friend…a special friend…we're looking after each other." Harry turns and smiles at her. "Yes, there's been snow." He laughs. "I haven't built a snowman for a long time. It sounds like a good idea to me."

He listens patiently as Wes asks him something. "I will. And you be a good boy and help your Grandma." There's more silence and Harry's demeanour changes slightly. "I know, so do I…yes, I promise…I love you too."

After he ends the call, Harry remains standing by the window, with his back to Ruth. She waits until he's ready to face her again. He runs a hand over his face as he turns around, attempting to hide the evidence of his tears.

"Come here." She holds her hand out to him and he reaches for her.

She rocks him in her arms as he cries, knowing he will heal now that he's finally allowed himself to start grieving for all that he's lost.

---

Harry's mind is fuzzy, caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness, and he can't quite make out what is being whispered in his ear. Something about a snowman, he thinks.

"I said let's go and build a snowman."

This time, Ruth's words clearly register with him. "Crazy woman," he mumbles but without malice. The idea appeals to him more than he wants to admit.

She sticks her tongue out at him. "We can take a photo of our snowman and send it to Wes," she says, her face becoming more serious. "That's not so crazy is it?"

"No," he smiles. "Not crazy at all."

She watches him get dressed. "Tell me the rest of it," she asks, as he puts his shirt on. "Did you find the Russian sleeper."

"In a roundabout way," he says, dryly. "The plan was for the sleeper to detonate a portable nuclear bomb in central London. We needed Connie's information to pinpoint exactly where but we were running out of time. I had to take a chance that the FSB in London wouldn't know what was being planned and wouldn't want to martyr themselves, or their families, so I arranged a meeting with Viktor Sarkisiian, the new station chief. I managed to persuade him to call off his team and he did."

"And?"

"They retrieved the bomb for us. It was in Grosvenor Square. Connie defused it. Well, she got the uranium out. The conventional explosive went off. In her face."

Ruth is silent, analysing everything Harry's told her. "What about Sarkisiian?" she finally asks, certain there's something she's missed. "His superiors can't have been happy he helped you stop the bomb. How did he explain…oh my God. He had you to offer them. That's what he did, isn't it?"

When Harry doesn't reply, she moves closer to him and grabs hold of his arms. "What did the Russians do to you?"

"Ruth-"

"Tell me!"

"They took me to Felixstowe and put me on a container ship. We got delayed by bad weather so I tried to make a run for it while the crew were playing cards." He smiles, ruefully. "Unfortunately, I'm not so fast on my feet these days and they caught me."

"They beat you up?"

"They knocked me about a bit."

"Don't lie to me," she says, quietly. "I've seen the scars."

Harry sighs. "If they'd wanted to kill me, they would've done."

She knows he's right; they could have dumped him in the North Sea and he'd never have been seen again. She shudders at the thought.

"Are you sure you want to hear all this?" he gently enquires.

"Yes."

"It was still rough when we set sail for Rotterdam so they locked me in a cabin. We'd been in port for a couple of hours before one of the crew came and got me. He left me on the dockside. Then a taxi turned up and the driver took me to the railway station. When he dropped me off, he gave me an envelope with 100 Euros in it and wished me well. I got on the first train I could, liberated a mobile phone from one of the passengers and called Malcolm. Within a few hours, I was back in London."

"The Russians just let you go?" Ruth asks, disbelievingly.

"Yes. I swear to you that is the truth."

She relaxes her hold on him. "I'm sorry."

"It's OK." He slides his arms around her waist, holding her against him. "You know all of it now, I promise."

She doesn't say anything for several minutes but then finally voices a question she's been avoiding. "What are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?" he replies, clearly puzzled.

"When Christmas is over. You'll go back to London won't you?"

"I promised I'd go and see Wes before he goes back to school. I can't let him down."

"And after you've seen him, what will you do then?"

He places a soft kiss on the top of her head. "That's up to you."

_The End_

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Thanks for reading. :)  
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